


Delusions of Reality

by Rowaine



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bunnies that went nowhere, Incompletes, Other, dark au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 16:01:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3615843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rowaine/pseuds/Rowaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever have one of those dreams that was just so real that it took half the day to convince yourself it was only a dream? Witness the mother of all mindfucks, and follow along as Harry Potter discovers just how far from known reality he's gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Delusions of Reality

**Title: Delusions of Reality  
  
Author: ** Rowaine (rowained@yahoo.com)  
  
**Rating:** It's one of mine. IE: expect NC-17 stuff, though not for all chapters  
  
**Pairings:** Erk, various ones... whether real or imagined. Just to be on the safe side, let's say all types -- M/F, M/M, M/F/M, M/M/M, and M/F/F.  
  
**Spoilers:** Through HBP, but with a twist. Alright, the twist is of titanic proportions.  
  
**Warnings:** Auto-erotica (masturbation), het, slash, gen, and disturbing concepts contradicting canon. While not what I would consider a crack!fic, this one is definitely on the odd side. Be forewarned. Also note that it's not kind to a few of the more popular characters, but considering the main premise I think that's understandable. Overall. Sorta.  
  
**Disclaimer:** I make no money from this abuse of JKR's world, characters, and storyline... but damn, it sure makes me smile alot.  
  
**Story Summary:** Ever have one of those dreams that was just so _real_ that it took half the day to convince yourself it was only a dream? Witness the mother of all mindfucks, and follow along as Harry Potter discovers just how far from known reality he's gone.  
  
**Author's Note:** The above is hopefully the spammiest you'll see from my headers, but I wanted to be thorough. **Please note that, although it is listed in "General", this story will contain slash in later chapters.** I promise to include appropriate warnings for each :P  
  
Also, I would love to hear what you think. This is really far from what I normally write, and I'd appreciate any comments or constructive criticism you want to offer.  
  
Having rambled more than is strictly necessary, let's move on, shall we?

 **Delusions of Reality**  
**Part I**  
~ * ~

  
Early morning sunlight warmed the room, filtering through lightweight curtains left open to allow the soft June breeze. In the corner nearest the window stood a sturdy perch upon which slept a lovely white owl. Gentle gusts of air caused the neatly scrolled summer homework on the desk to whisper against a nearby stack of textbooks. Once in awhile, a more robust burst of wind would send flapping the pile of discarded clothes thrown haphazardly across a chair. Birds chirped their morning songs, the notes wafting softly past the open window.  
  
A peaceful scene, quite commonly found during the summer break in teenagers' bedrooms all over the world.  
  
Despite the serenity of his environment, the occupant of this particular bedroom slept fitfully, his eyelids flickering, head tossing about on the sweat-drenched pillow, brow furrowed in consternation. Breathing harshly through clenched teeth, his muttered pleas of _gods, no more_ and _not again!_ could barely be heard beyond the confines of his bed. A growing bead of perspiration lost purchase at his temple, winding its way down the tightly corded neck to pool at his clavicle.  
  
Sitting up with a gasp and stifled scream, the young man's eyes were wildly unfocused as he blinked away the after-images of his latest nightmare. A white-knuckled hand scrubbed across his face, gaze darting to the closed door. Had he made enough noise to alert the other people in the house? Attention entirely on listening for footsteps or raised voices, he spent several minutes forcing his heartrate and breathing into a more normal pattern.  
  
When at last he confirmed no unwanted visitor's approach, his body relaxed in a slump across the tangled sheets of his bed. His eyes slipped shut wearily, but snapped open again almost at once. Every time he allowed himself to rest, the same images returned in full force. Dumbledore's cursed body sailing over the edge of the Astronomy Tower. Racing out of the castle, following Snape and Malfoy, with several other Death Eaters hot on his trail. The funeral of his beloved, bedamned mentor. How he was expected to fulfill some half-arsed prophecy with so little information and training. The earlier effort of calming himself was definitely wasted now that his mind was back on the tumultuous events of the previous month.  
  
_Gods! I'd almost rather have visions of Voldemort than these twice-hexed memories._ Allowing the tiniest groan of frustration to echo throughout the room, Harry turned over toward the milk crate (his Aunt's concession that 'everyone needed a nightstand') to locate his glasses.  
  
Which were missing.  
  
As was the milk crate.  
  
Eyes completely open once more, Harry sat upright with a start, looking around the room in horrified bemusement. This was most definitely not his bedroom at 4 Privet Drive!  
  
Spacious and well-appointed, from the pale grey walls to the navy and deep green bedclothes, there was nothing to compare it with his tiny, cluttered space at the Dursley home. A huge bay window opened out onto a lush garden, with Hedwig sleeping peacefully on the perch he'd promised to get for her once he'd finally left his relatives' house for good. Three low comfortable chairs sat in a semi-circle in one corner, framing a square coffee table where a wizards chess game was laid out, ready for play. On the opposite wall was a huge wardrobe and matching mahogany dresser, as well as a full-length mirror. Just beside the door (which he assumed led out into a hall) was a broom and coat stand of the same dark wood. Directly across from the bed -- a stately four-poster that reminded him of his bed at Hogwarts -- was a large desk, heavily laden with books and maps and odd trinkets that all seemed to be twittering at each other.  
  
On careful inspection, not only could he not locate his glasses on the nearby nightstand, he also determined that for some reason he no longer _needed_ them. _Either I'm still dreaming, or Fred-n-George managed to slip something into my stash of snacks. Or I've fallen through the looking glass and should try to follow the white rabbit. This can't be the Weasleys' house, definitely isn't the Dursleys', and even more definitely isn't Grimmauld Place._  
  
Finally convincing his body to move, he untangled himself from the sheets and stumbled over toward the wardrobe and dresser. Getting dressed might not make all things right with the world, but it would most assuredly make him feel less vulnerable to further surprises.  
  
He opened the wardrobe only to find miles of shimmering fabric, all of it wizard's clothes. Boots and loafers sat at the bottom, obviously worn but taken care of, and all just a couple of sizes bigger than what he normally wore. A quick check inside the dresser showed much the same: classy and tasteful clothes, although these in Muggle-safe styles, along with underwear and socks. And all too big.  
  
Running a hand through his hair in agitation, Harry caught movement out of the corner of his eyes, and almost choked on a startled gasp. A non-magical mirror, showing only his reflection. But not the reflection he was expecting to see. _It could still be enchanted, even if it doesn't talk or wink or whatever. This just isn't_ right _!_  
  
The young man who peered back at him frowned when Harry frowned, raised his hand to grip long strands of hair just when Harry did, and even crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue, but only when Harry made such a face. _This has got to be some sort of really strange dream. No way am I this... tall... and muscled... and... damn!_  
  
The only resemblance he could immediately see was his unusually green eyes. Oh, the shape of his face was similar, but more defined. More mature. It almost seemed older, but he didn't _feel_ older. On second thought, the person in the mirror actually looked almost seventeen, whereas the body Harry was accustomed to appeared younger and less filled out. If he had to guess, this person was close to six foot tall and a good four stone heavier. Solid layers of muscle rippled back at him as he struck a pose, pectorals and abdominals clenching in a very satisfactory firmness that would've made him envious had it been on anyone else.  
  
_Alright, let's start from the top, shall we?_  
  
The expected unruly mop of hair was much longer, falling almost to his shoulder blades in the back, but framing his face in front. His jawline was the same, but a bit more angular -- he vaguely remembered seeing the same outline on pictures of his father. His nose hadn't changed a bit, but his lips were fuller, and definitely darker in shade. His shoulders were quite broad _and would you look at those muscles!_ , as was his chest. Still wearing just the boxers he'd slept in, he marveled at how his skin glowed a healthy golden tan, with only a thin trail of dark wispy hair leading below the waistband. His legs looked and felt more powerful, as if he'd spent time playing Muggle football along with his beloved Quidditch. Even his feet seemed larger and stronger than before. With a deep breath and a nervous swallow, he slipped his thumbs in the elastic of his boxers and slipped them down his legs. And nearly bit through his tongue.  
  
_Holy fuck! If this is a dream, I don't want to wake up!_  
  
He acknowledged, very privately, in the farthest corner of his mind, that it was a petty thing to wish. But having spent the better part of his life as a 'runt', the scrawny, undernourished outcast... He had always been more than a little jealous of his best friend Ron and their classmates, for their amazing growth spurts and infinitely more masculine bodies. Even as he watched the body in the mirror, it (he) grew erect under his happy gaze. If this was really and truly his own body, then hell, there was no reason why he couldn't enjoy it, right? And there was so very much more of it to enjoy...  
  
_Can't take long. Gotta find out whatinhell's going on here. But the house is quiet, and no one can blame me for being a horny teenager._ Finally allowing himself to touch this new body, Harry's hands stroked up his stomach and across his chest, lingering on the flat dusky nipples that crinkled under his fingers. _Never had much of a chance at this, not at Hogwarts with a room full of boys, certainly not at the Dursleys._  
  
A voyeuristic streak in which he'd never before indulged hit Harry; watching himself in the mirror felt deliciously naughty, almost pornographic in nature. Fingernails gently scraping over his chest and down toward his navel, his eyes glowed vibrant emerald as he watched the predictable expansion of flesh between his legs. Predictable, but wholly new. His old, familiar body was so much smaller, in all ways.  
  
The urge to take his time and explore every inch of himself was powerful, even though he knew not to waste that much time. Still, a half hour couldn't hurt. Forcing his hands away from their delightful journey across his abdomen, Harry darted over to the other side of the room, grabbed a chair, and returned to the mirror. As quietly as he could manage, he lowered the chair into place and sat down with his buttocks halfway over the edge of the leather seat. Letting his knees drift apart as he leaned back, Harry got a good look at his most private attributes.  
  
_Oh sweet Merlin, would you look at this? Must be a dream, gotta be, and in this dream world I'm some sort of stripper or exotic dancer. And if not, it's one helluva waste!_  
  
Sliding his hands up his inner thighs, Harry avidly watched his movements in the mirror. _Alright, so I've found the ultimate kink. At least this one doesn't involve another person, and will never reject me._ Fingertips digging into lush, trimmed pubic hair, his breath hitched as his thumbs stroked the sensitive skin at the junction of hip and thigh. _Twice as thick, at least three times as long, oh please let me not wake up yet._ He moaned aloud, just a short exhalation, with each swipe of fingers against heavy sac. Had he always been so responsive? Harry couldn't recall a single time when he'd had more than ten minutes to masturbate without worry of getting caught. And maybe his dormmates wouldn't have laughed or said anything, it was still an uncomfortable thought for him to jerk off when any of them were awake. Compared to any of his yearmates, Harry was... diminutive, to put it kindly. _But not here, not now,_ he silently added, a broad smile on his face.  
  
And yes, a loud voice in the back of his mind that sounded suspiciously like Hermione was fussing at him, telling him that now was hardly the time to indulge in such base pleasures when he needed answers. Harry acknowledged the voice, acknowledged the chiding thoughts, and promptly informed both that a) this was probably some strange dream therefore b) couldn't he take just a little break from Constant Vigilance to have a little fun? That settled, he got down to business.  
  
Another major difference that he only now noticed was the fact that this body still had its foreskin. He had once overheard his Aunt Petunia telling a scandalized neighbor how her heathen sister hadn't had Harry circumcised at birth, but that she had fixed that as soon as possible after being landed with him. For years, he hadn't understood what the difference was -- it was just another part of the body, right? Then puberty hit both him and his fellow Gryffindor dormmates. Of the five boys in their room, only Harry and Dean Thomas had been circumcised; a fact that left the others bewildered. After much discussion, Dean had gotten permission from his parents to have Madam Pomphrey regrow his foreskin, and for the next few months that was the primary topic of their late night talks. Harry had wondered at the difference, but could hardly get permission from his relatives to do something so drastic -- especially since Aunt Petunia spent money on getting him 'fixed' in the first place.  
  
But that was no longer the case, at least not in this dream, right? Grinning stupidly at his reflection, Harry took the nerve-laden fold of skin between thumb and index finger, gently rolling it until a bead of pre-cum formed in his slit. Eyes rolling, a shiver of pure delight traveled the length of his spine at the sensation. _No wonder she wanted me to be rid of it. The frigid old prude can't stand anything feeling this good._  
  
A burst of inspiration caused him to jump up and head toward his desk, where he was sure he had seen a bottle of hand lotion earlier. As wonderful as it felt, Harry was quite certain that it would be even better with a little slick. Bottle found, position resumed, he squirted out a palmful of the slippery liquid and placed the bottle beside him in the chair. The first touch of lotion-smoothed hand against his growing erection left Harry breathless. His eyes met the mirror-double's, whose expression of nearly painful arousal matched his own, and doubled it. _Definitely a kink worth exploiting. Who'd have thought it could be so sexy to watch yourself wank?_  
  
Slippery fingers mapped his testicles, weighing the difference between these sacs and what he was used to. If the variance in penis length hadn't clued him in, comparing walnuts to plums surely did. _Gotta wonder if my other body could even have kids. Think I remember Pomphrey saying something about testicles descending before the body's fully functional._ A curiosity, of course, but one that wasn't worth investigating at the moment. Not when he had his hands full with something much more interesting.  
  
While his dormmates swapped stories and exchanged helpful wanking hints, Harry had hidden behind his curtains with the excuse of practicing his Occlumency. Oh, he'd enjoyed the occasional climax. Privately, swiftly, and not nearly as often as his friends. But now he wished he had paid more attention. Still, what he was doing felt good, even if it didn't have the years of experience as his fellows.  
  
Fondling his balls felt so wonderful that he hardly wanted to move on, but eventually the steady throb in his cock lured one hand up to tentatively stroke its length. _Ohhhhh fuck! Never felt this good before._ The Hermione-voice sharply informed him that a properly nourished body would develop faster and have more active nerve endings than his stunted form. Once again, he thanked 'her' and filed the information away. Between the slow stroking of his prick and gentle rubbing on his sac, nothing could possibly be more important than the glorious sensations he was feeling.  
  
Nothing, that was, until his lower hand slipped, causing his littlest finger to slide between his buttocks. A thick glob of pre-cum practically leapt out of his slit, landing high on his chest at the explosion of that one tiny caress. Harry's internal monologue turned to gibberish, then simply to soft groans of approval when he wiggled that small digit along his crevice. Of course, he'd heard stories, whispered tales in the dark when his mates thought everyone else was asleep, of how two blokes could please each other this way... but it was just another fact he'd filed away. Right at this moment, however, nothing on earth could prevent him from teasing the million hungry nerves of between his cheeks. He barely recognized when his right hand sped up stroking his cock.  
  
The deliciously new feelings thundered through him like an earthquake. His hips thrust forward and back on instinct, causing his finger to push just the barest half inch past the tight ring of his anus. Without warning, a climax more powerful than all of his previous experiences combined washed over him, flooding his senses and drenching him in purely sensual waves of bliss.  
  
When next Harry opened his eyes, the entire room was brighter. At first he put this down to the strength of his orgasm, but when he went to wipe away the semen on his stomach and chest, he found only streaks of flaky residue. _Damn, I must've passed out or something. So much for a quick wank before getting some answers._ And that thought made him double-check his surroundings. New room, new body, everything from his supposed dream was still present. _Time to panic yet? Yep, getting close._  
  
Breathing out a harsh half-laugh, he almost tripped over his feet putting the chair back. His fingers fumbled with drawer handles and buttons, shoelaces and zip, each move indicative of how unnerved he truly was. For a dream, it wasn't going away when he woke up. _Unless this is some sort of enchanted dream._  
  
And that idea certainly didn't make him any more comfortable.

~ * ~

  
  
Running a brush through his hair, Harry finally gave in and used one of the ties he found in a bowl on his dresser. No matter how cool he thought it looked, this mess was a whole lot... well, _messier_ than the shorter cut he was used to. Face flushed, he took one last look in the mirror _and I'll never think of mirrors in quite the same way again_ before patting his pocket to reassure that his wand was in place, and heading for the door.  
  
He had no reason to suspect that the date was changed -- the calendar above his desk indicated late June by the tic marks, just as he was wont to do. Which meant that he couldn't legally cast any of the detection spells to locate nearby heartbeats, amplify voices, or even clean his teeth. Growling in frustration, he carefully opened the door, grateful that whoever owned this house kept the door hinges oiled and squeak-free.  
  
The hall was just as clean and well-kept as his bedroom. A long carpet runner of deep jewel tones would muffle his footsteps quite nicely. Hundreds of pictures, both magical and Muggle in origin, covered almost every inch of wall space, and Harry did a double-take. Not only was he a major subject in the photographs, but so were his parents, the Marauders, most of the Hogwarts staff, a number of Order members, and almost every person he knew from school. _It's almost exactly what I would've done if given the choice..._  
  
Of the seven doors present along the hall, only one was closed. It turned out to be a storage cupboard, but interesting nonetheless. Years of memorable knicknacks, all with his name on them, neatly stored in boxes and stacked by year on shelves crammed with prized school projects and retired but obviously beloved toys. That Harry couldn't recall a single one made him... beyond sad. Wistful and melancholy, envious of his doppelganger, bitter that this was only a dream. He fought back the urge to slam the door, reminding himself that he still had no idea who else might be in the house, or any of a million what-if's that troubled his mind.  
  
Three other doors led to bedrooms. One was a dust-free (and often used, by the looks of it) guest room. It had several bookshelves stocked with every imaginable subject, both magical and Muggle novels, and quick reference texts for easy research. Not that it would keep the likes of one Hermione Granger busy for long, but the selection would definitely be useful for the average person. A second bedroom adjacent to his own seemed to have been halfway turned into a study, with a sleeper sofa along one wall for guests. The last turned out to be the 'master's chambers', and was every bit as lived in and lovingly appointed as Harry's room... but at a quick glance, he still couldn't determine _whose_ bedroom it was.  
  
Stepping into each of the two bathrooms, he almost drooled at the size and depth of the tubs. _And I thought the Prefects' bath at Hogwarts was sinfully decadent!_ He ignored the mild urge to use the facilities, so as not to alert any downstairs occupants to his presence. _Sure, they probably know I'm here, but they won't know that I'm awake right now. I think... hope... Oh bugger._  
  
At the farthest end of the hall, he stopped at the head of the stairs to peer down onto the main floor. He'd already determined that this house was easily four times as large as the Dursleys' home on Privet Drive, but seeing the entry and parlor from this vantage point made him re-evaluate. _Make that six times, or more._  
  
Gingerly taking one stair at a time, Harry extended his senses as far as he could push them. He hadn't had much time to practice the techniques he'd read about in the book Hermione had given him for an early birthday present, but with time and patience, he could probably (eventually) sense the presence of, and a rough estimate of power for, anyone in a fifty foot radius. That he couldn't rely on such an ability at the moment did _not_ make him a happy camper.  
  
Two steps from the bottom, a duo of voices halted his movements -- and heartbeat -- in midstep.  
  
"I'm just so very worried about the lad, Severus. It's been nearly a month now, and he still hasn't come out of the spell yet," came a deep male voice, evidently concerned about his subject. "Is there nothing we can do to speed this up?"  
  
Harry caught himself in a shiver as the second man spoke. He definitely knew _that_ voice.  
  
"Like I've told you before, there is nothing that we can _safely_ do. Harry is a terribly strong-willed young man, as you well know. A fact that could prove most difficult for him just now." A weary sigh broke the Potions Master's train of thought, as if the man was every bit as concerned for him as the first speaker. "Just... keep on as you've begun. That's the best advice I can offer at this point. He's bound to come around soon."  
  
_To join them or not... Snape is a wanted man, even if I suspect that he was just following the Headmaster's orders. But who is the other man, and why am I living with him? Damn! There's no way to get past the parlor without them seeing me. Oh well, guess there's nothing else to do._  
  
With a mental sigh, Harry straightened his shoulders, rechecked the location of his wand, and plastered a smile on his face. He'd had long years of practice at acting in whatever manner was expected of him by his guardians, and this man seemed honestly concerned about him. So he needed to be cheerful and friendly, at least until he had enough answers to decide who needed hexing.  
  
Bouncing around the corner, his smile firmly in place, Harry chirped a quick "Good morning, gentlemen" before he lost courage.  
  
Severus Snape -- at least, that's who Harry assumed it was, although this man looked much less... well, greasy, or old, or wrinkled -- snapped his head toward the teen, a quick grin replacing his worried expression.  
  
The second man, whose hair was almost as black as the Potions Master's, practically fell out of his seat in surprise. Less than two seconds later, in a blur of activity that he could barely follow, Harry found himself wrapped in a Hagrid-strength hug. A silent hiccup that felt suspiciously like a sob nearly made him drop his paranoia. Almost.  
  
Awkwardly returning the hug with one arm, he looked toward Snape helplessly. The Leglimensed response: _You've been... ill. Please do allow him to dote on you for a bit._ Harry frowned, sending back: _I don't feel ill, or even as if I've been sick anytime recently. Actually, I feel better than ever. What's going on, sir?_  
  
He wasn't sure what had set off the Head of Slytherin, but Harry once more found himself the subject of Snape's worried looks. Impatient and forthright, he gave up on subterfuge. "Would one of you please tell me what's going on?"  
  
The plaintiff tone of his request finally broke through whatever melancholy had hold of the unknown hugger, and Harry was abruptly released. He wasn't terribly happy about being set free, not that he'd admit the deeply submerged craving for physical contact, but at least it gave him the chance to see the man's face. Neatly trimmed, short black hair topped a classically handsome face. Strong jaw, firm chin, elegantly arched eyebrows, and bright green eyes. The last made him pause, take a second look, and nearly pass out.  
  
"Oh dear." A step back, a shaking hand reaching back to grasp his chair for support. "Severus? Is he...?" Practically collapsing onto the wingback, eyes flickering toward the Potions Master only a split second before returning to stare at Harry once more. "Harry... do you know... what..."  
  
Resting his hand on his friend's trembling shoulder, Snape took over asking the question, "Harry, what is the last thing you remember? Do you know who we are?"  
  
Surely the Ministry of Magic would make allowances for his use of magic outside of school, if he were forced to defend himself. Because yes, indeed, he did know who both men were. Even if he didn't understand _how_ or _why_ they were here. Or where here was. Or why he looked so very different. A subtle cough brought him back to answer the question.  
  
"Of course. Professor Snape," he bowed his head mockingly at the criminal-at-large before directing his gaze on the second man. "And I'm not sure how you managed to get that body, but it sure looks better than the old one, Mr. Riddle."  


**Part II**  
~ * ~

  
_Surely the Ministry of Magic would make allowances for his use of magic outside of school, if he were forced to defend himself. Because yes, indeed, he did know who both men were. Even if he didn't understand_ how _or_ why _they were here. Or where here was. Or why he looked so very different. A subtle cough brought him back to answer the question.  
  
"Of course. Professor Snape," he bowed his head mockingly at the criminal-at-large before directing his gaze on the second man. "And I'm not sure how you managed to get that body, but it sure looks better than the old one, Mr. Riddle."_  
  
Snape's eyes briefly flickered over toward the miserable wizard slumped in his chair. Regardless of the difference in their ages, in this situation he was most qualified in dealing with the troubled teen. Even so, he sighed heavily at the distasteful task set before him. "This is going to take some time, and a great deal of patience on your part, Harry."  
  
"Ok, could you please stop calling me that? 'Cus listen, I get that there's more going on than I know now, obviously, but it's really starting to make me nervous with you all friendly, alright?"  
  
And that, at last, provoked the famous Snape sneer. Harry could admit it to himself, privately, very deep down, that he was being petty and childish, but all things considered, he felt somewhat justified -- these two known Dark wizards had taken him from home (alright, so he'd never really associated 'home' with the Dursleys, but that was where he was _supposed_ to be), drugged or Confounded him (that they somehow expected him to remember events that hadn't happened irritated Harry to no end), and then acted as if they were on first name basis with him (and Snape being friendly was definitely a thing worthy of concern). His greatly improved circumstances upon waking shouldn't sway him from the years of accumulated animosity. But he suspected they might, regardless of what his rational mind said.  
  
Either way, he kept his Occlumency shields at full force. As proficient as Snape and Voldemort were at Leglimency, it might not do much good, but it was the only defense he had just then.  
  
"Ha-" Severus began, then caught himself and started over, "Mr. Potter, I don't believe you have had breakfast yet. Let us take this... meeting into the kitchen. And by all means, fix it yourself. We wouldn't want you to think you meal has been tampered with."  
  
Had his voice not held the expected scorn, Harry would have cringed at the inferred kindness.  
  
He warily followed his former professor out of the parlor and back through the foyer, down a short hall and through an open door. His eyes widened at the sunny, welcoming atmosphere of the kitchen. Harry could well imagine Molly Weasley -- with ample funds at her disposal -- having designed and decorated this room.  
  
Only after taking too long to gawp at this newest surprise did he realize their little party was short one Dark Lord. "So Lord Voldemort is too grand to join us mere mortals in something as mundane as eating?" he mocked with his best sarcasm.  
  
Snape sighed sadly, holding out his hand to indicate that Harry should find his own food. "Tell me honestly, Mr. Potter, would you truly believe anything he has to say right now?" Harry quickly shook his head. "Just so. Until you and I can clear up a few things, it is best that he stays out of the conversation."  
  
For a moment, Harry thought about arguing the point. He drew breath to speak, opened his mouth... and flushed brightly as his stomach growled. Instead of beginning a silly debate, he opted to risk poisoning by searching through the cupboards for food. Considering the state of his bedroom, he wasn't terribly surprised to find all his favorites stocked, as well as a number of items he'd always wanted to try.  
  
After two huge bowls of sugary, cold cereal, four slices of buttered bread with boysenberry jam, a half gallon of juice and three bananas, he almost felt human. And more than a little miffed at the Slytherin across the table, who hadn't stopped watching him throughout the meal with that damned smirk on his face the whole time. Pushing away his plate, Harry upped his glare at the Potions Master.  
  
"Alright, why don't you get started with whatever story you've cooked up with your Master." His accusatory pronouncement was met by the expected sneer and sigh.  
  
"Very well, Mr. Potter." Snape casually summoned a steaming pot of tea and two cups, added sugar and lemon to his own, and sipped half of it. With another sharp glance at his former student, he said, "Before we go any farther, I must ask that you withhold all explosive objections until the end. Regardless of your... situation, I somehow doubt that your temper has been altered appreciably."  
  
Harry bit his tongue, nearly hard enough to draw blood. Of course his professor of six years would know such things -- not that Harry was proud of his volatile temperament. Looking up from his untouched cup, he nodded once and remained silent.  
  
"Hmm, perhaps you have learned how to manage yourself. A bit." He quickly held up a hand to forestall the teen's immediate protestation. "I'm _teasing_ you, Potter. A habit I shall endeavor to restrain, for now." Dark eyes watched Harry, sadness evident by the lines on his forehead. "It has been a number of years since my own schooling, but as I recall, you should have covered Magical Theory by now?" Another nod, and a raised eyebrow. "During your studies, do you remember the subjects of Compulsion and Induced Dreaming?"  
  
Harry didn't have to think very hard about that -- he and Hermione had done many hours of extra research over both topics, mainly because he suspected Voldemort of using them to control the horrid visions Harry incurred most nights. According to what he'd read, however, he found few similarities to support his theory.  
  
Grumbling over his perceived failure, he admitted, "Yes, but it didn't do much good. Whatever tricks he used to control my visions, it isn't the same as Compulsion or that Dream thing."  
  
Snape rolled his eyes dramatically, making sure Harry saw the expression. "That wasn't why I asked. Although your hypothesis was worth the extra study," he said with a smirk, turning the praise into sarcasm. "I trust you will permit me to elaborate on this matter?" He paused, looked around the room briefly, then asked, "Would you be more comfortable elsewhere?"  
  
"Bah, again with the concern!" A haunted look flickered across Harry's face before he managed to subdue it. "Here's fine. As good a place as any for a fairytale at _your_ knee." His disdainful emphasis wasn't lost on Snape. "Cut to the chase, will you?"  
  
"Fine," clipped and cold, the greasy git persona slipped back into place, "Potter, you are waking up from a very long, extremely involved, Induced Dream. Almost every witch and wizard on the British Isles have been under much the same condition. Until last month. To some degree, each of us has had to deal with the ramifications of reality crashing down upon us. That you are one of the last to awaken is... unfortunate, but not unexpected."  
  
Contrary to popular opinion, Harry was much brighter than his grades (and reputation) indicated. Oh, he would never be the intellectual sponge that Hermione was, but he could take random facts and fit them together to formulate a hypothesis. "Last month. When you killed Dumbledore?" he hissed angrily, quite pleased when he saw the resultant flinch. "You can't sit there and tell me, seriously, that the Headmaster had us all under some sort of mass delusion for the past-"  
  
"For at least the past forty years, give or take."  
  
"Oh. My. God." Harry's eyes goggled, his voice a hoarse whisper of incredulity. "And you actually believe this?"  
  
Severus closed his eyes and said a silent prayer to the Ancient Gods. For the patience he would need to convince this most stubborn teen of the truth. For the fortitude it would take to relive his own awakening. And for peace, for the man quietly mourning in the parlor.  
  
"There is no subtle way of telling the story, Potter. At some point you will have to accept the truth," he paused, lips curving into a sardonic grin. "Though I suspect that you'll hang on to these delusions tooth and nail. Bloody infuriating brat that you are."  
  
Even seeing the teasing glint in the older man's eyes, Harry bristled at the insult. Had it come from anyone else... But no, this was his most hated teacher. No one ever said that Harry James Potter didn't know how to hold a grudge.  
  
Breaking into the young man's righteous anger, Severus snickered. "The truth hurts, doesn't it." He poked his thumb over his shoulder, indicating another green-eyed wizard. "It must run in the family." Black eyes watched him carefully, but Severus didn't even attempt to hide his smirk at the teen's expression. Long years of experience -- many more than Harry currently remembered -- had Snape's wand in hand, a silencing spell cast around the table only a heartbeat before...  
  
"Have you gone completely nutters?! What kind of potions have you been sniffing, to think that I'm at all related to that... that... sadistic, murdering bastard! All this time, we've been expecting more comical attempts to kill me, but no _oo_ oo, you and Lord Thingy just want to fuck with my head till I believe this hairbrained story. And for what? Getting rid of me before I figure out how to fulfill the prophecy? Or maybe you've got some slimy Slytherin scheme to turn me into a Death Eater boytoy."  
  
Harry had himself so worked up that he missed the silver tear tracks streaming down Snape's face. He also failed to notice the suspiciously shaking shoulders, the half-muffled snorts, and the odd wheeze of breath.  
  
"You've managed to fool almost everyone -- Dumbledore and all the teachers at Hogwarts, Hermione, most of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, every Order member but Mad-Eye -- but this clenches it. I'll bet you had a training camp down in the dungeons for prospective dark witches and wizards, and you used your position as Head of Slytherin to check us all out for potential. Omigod, and maybe you molested them too, and used Obliviate or one of your vile potions to make everyone forget!"  
  
When the vibrating teen paused for breath, Severus quickly added (through hastily muffled snickers), "Mustn't forget the goats, Potter. Old Abeforth and I were in league too, don't you know." He barely finished the comment before busting into nearly maniacal laughter.  
  
Harry was on a roll. It all made perfect sense, in the oddest way. "And that's also where you get the blood," he said, wide-eyed and nearly overloaded.  
  
"From the students, or the goats," Snape felt compelled to ask.  
  
Off-handed, Harry hardly broke stride as he answered, "The students mainly, although I'm sure that you keep a few animals around too."  
  
"For midnight snacks?"  
  
"Of course. And school holidays." The light of a brilliant brainstorm ofttimes resembles a psychotic break in reality. Harry's eyes shone more vividly than ever before -- you decide which.  
  
"And this would also explain the various jars in my office?"  
  
"Oh yeah! I'd almost forgot about them... How often do you get the munchies?" Glassy eyes focused on Snape's mouth. "Will you show me your fangs? I mean, if you're not feeling peckish right now or anything."  
  
Obligingly, Snape peeled back his lips to reveal... a perfectly ordinary (if whiter and more straight than expected) set of human teeth. He held the position long enough for his gums to dry out, almost sorry to witness Harry's mood fall into disappointment.  
  
"I must apologize for not living up to your expectations, Mr. Potter. Unfortunately, there hasn't been a single ounce of truth to your accusations." He flashed a quick grin, adding, "But you get full points for imagination. I've never before been suspected of violating livestock. That was always more Lucius' perversion," he finished, followed by another snort of laughter.  
  
By gradual increments, rational thought returned. Harry ducked his head, hopelessly embarrassed by the outrageous things he'd said to his former professor. Not that he believed the man to be a saint, but there certainly was no grounds for his outburst.  
  
"I... might have... gone a bit too far." Barely able to meet the older man's gaze, he couldn't quite voice a true apology.  
  
"You think?" Severus was man enough to accept the unspoken meaning. Besides, he had quite enjoyed hearing a few novel fantasies about his 'evil ways'.  
  
"So," much more quietly, Harry cleared his throat and tried to sound... sane. "So, let's skip the family resemblance part for now, shall we?" I'll try not to interrupt this time."  
  
With a flick of his wand, Severus refilled the teapot, prepared his cup and motioned for the teen to do likewise. Only after they had both finished their drinks did he resume the narrative.  
  
"Almost every person, magical or Muggle, can Induce Dreams upon themselves to some extent. A much smaller percentage can extend this ability to include close family, friends and significant others. One in several million, every ten generations or so, has the ability to cover a large area of relatively unknown targets. Albus Dumbledore was one such wizard.  
  
"Do bear in mind that Inducive Dreaming alone would not be sufficient to cause our current predicament." Snape stopped rather abruptly, his dark eyes drawing Harry to full attention. "Tell me, Mr. Potter, exactly how many magical people currently reside in the United Kingdom?"  
  
_Binns covered that, didn't he? Oh shit Harry, think!_ His brain complained at the premature switching back to school mode with so little warning, but eventually he found the answer. "Taking into account people who work on the continent or travel extensively -- like Bill and Charlie Weasley, or professional Quidditch players -- there are just over 350,000 magical people listed on the Ministry's registry." He paused, then added thoughtfully, "But that's not counting folks like Hagrid and Remus, who aren't listed as human. So we should probably round the total up to 400,000 at least, right?"  
  
Severus nodded his head, a small smile of approval flashed quickly at the young man. "I see you managed to stay awake for at least one of Old Binns' lectures," he said dryly. "Your numbers are accurate, and make my story less believable, I'm sure. But before you raise any further questions, try to consider how the addition of an equally strong Compulsion would affect the situation."  
  
Harry had already considered the combined affect, back when he and Hermione were so thick in their research of Voldemort's possible use of these talents. He shuddered, remembering his friend's Arithmatic equations, and the exponential possibilities inherent with those two rare traits. But to compound their horrifying theory with a wizard of Dumbledore's power? Not to mention how many people were in actual, physical contact with the man... Harry's eyes widened to house elf proportions.  
  
"I see you have the picture, Mr. Potter. A terrifying combination, to be sure." Snape's hand moved a few inches toward Harry's before he caught himself. The teen would hardly welcome such a casually friendly gesture from him just then. "Now consider how well liked he was. A Compulsor's task is made infinitely more simple when his targets use little to no shielding in his presence. Even those of us schooled in the art of Occlumency would be hard-pressed to withstand such a wizard's desires, especially if we had no knowledge that our trusted friend could place suggestions far below our conscious mind."  
  
At this point he refused to allow the trembling teen's nervousness to keep him from offering comfort. Severus quickly grasped Harry's hand and waited for their eyes to meet.  
  
"What makes it all the worse... I do not believe that Albus _intentionally_ used Compulsion or Inducive Dreaming on anyone. Along with Minerva, Filius and Tom, we have come to an educated guess: Albus' sanity began a rapid descent after his encounter with the Dark Lord Grindewald. It was... benign, for the most part. At least until his twice-hexed gifts began to take hold on every person with whom he came into contact.  
  
"Potter. _Harry,_ he was a full-time fixture at the foremost magical school in the world for over fifty years. The sheer number of potential victims is utterly terrifying."  
  
Harry squeezed the Potions Master's hand until he felt the squeak of bones grinding against each other. His face showed full understanding of what he'd been told -- horror, fear, and more than a little shame. "I'm so sorry for all those nasty things I said, sir."  
  
With one last gentle grip, Severus released the lad's hand. "Nonsense. Surely you don't think it was easy for me to accept these revelations? I've been there, Harry, and not so very long ago that I can't recall feeling precisely as you do right now."  
  
An uneasy silence fell over the room. Severus held himself ready for any number of reactions, but Harry simply sat there, staring off into space.  


**A quick word before we begin the chapter:**  
  
There have been a few people asking me to clarify a few terms. I'll do my best, without having a standard dictionary at my fingertips.  
  
When I use the term _Inducing_ or _Inducive_ in relation to dreams, it is meant to indicate a sleep state in which the subject's dreams are controlled by some force other than their normal brain-in-rest. An _Induced Dream_ could be something as mild as a parent trying to soothe a troubled child with pleasant dreams of a happy summer day, all the way up to the fully fantastical world in which a powerful wizard (Dumbledore) has forced upon the general populace.  
  
_Compulsion_ is the act -- whether conscious or subconscious -- of one person ordering another to think or feel a certain way. Please bear in mind that not **all** _Compulsion_ is bad; the Compulsor's intent goes a long way here. Still having some trouble with this one? Think of it like so: _Compulsion_ is similar to the Imperius Curse, except that it overrides the subject's subconscious -- the target of a _Compulsion_ , as a rule, will seldom realize they have acted in any way outside of their norms, whereas the subject of Imperius has a much higher possibility of knowing they've been influenced.  
  
The combination of _Inducive Dreaming_ and _Compulsion_ would essentially insure that whatever fantasy the Inductor and/or Compulsor has carries over from sleep to waking. A never-ending cycle, if you will.  
  
I hope that clears up some misunderstandings. Any further questions in regards to these precepts, please feel free to email or ask in reviews. But bear in mind that some things will be left unanswered until I'm ready to include them in the storyline *smooch*

 **Delusions of Reality**  
**Part III**  
~ * ~

  
  
Movement out of the corner of his eye drew Severus' attention. With an obviously worried expression on his face, Tom raised one eyebrow to silently ask 'is now a good time?' In response, he got a classically Snape move: one hand flipped hair away from the Potions Master's face, masking the quick shake of his head. It was smooth. It was subtle. It...  
  
"Might as well come in and join the party."  
  
... failed miserably.  
  
Both older men looked toward the teen time bomb. No matter how much more mature Harry was when compared to his peers, his temper often proved hazardous. Especially since he had learned how to mask the most obvious emotions.  
  
The subject of their intense scrutiny sat back in his chair with a smirk worthy of any Slytherin. Sure, his entire worldview had just been turned on end and spun like a child's top, but Harry had enough presence of mind to know how very bad an idea it was to allow two of the most _Slytherin_ esque of snakes to witness his discomfort. Even if what they were telling him was true, he had no idea where he really stood with either man.  
  
Besides, silence might not be "golden", but it did have the habit of unnerving your opponents into doing some pretty dumb things. And Harry was tired of feeling like the odd man out.  
  
That these two powerful wizards were turning out _not_ to be his opponents... he wasn't sure how he felt about this latest revelation. He came to the conclusion that, without further information, he should relax his guard just enough to see how they interacted before making a rash decision. Stretching his legs out across the nearest chair, Harry folded his arms casually across his chest and waited for their next move.  
  
Severus gave up. He was rapidly approaching the 'too tired to care' mark when dealing with either green-eyed man. That Tom had been one of his closest friends for more years than he dared to count meant little in light of their current predicament. That he had watched Harry take his first steps, hobble along on his first broomstick, cast his first spells... He once again cursed the mental instability of the late Headmaster for placing him in such an uncomfortable situation. Turning back to sit properly in his chair, he silently motioned Tom to join them at the table.  
  
"You've received an invitation, Tom. Make the most of it and stop waffling like a timid first year."  
  
In another world, the fabricated web of dreams and nightmares created by Albus Dumbledore had formed one Tom Marvelo Riddle into a horrifying Dark Lord, capable of the most heinous atrocities imaginable. Battling that image was the shuffling figure of the middle-aged man slowly making his way toward his own kitchen table, an expression of tentative hope mingled with expected rejection warring on his face. He dropped heavily into the last remaining chair and held himself stiffly, for all intents and purposes acting as a condemned man might behave when invited to tea by his executioners.  
  
Harry wiggled his fingers and silently sent a spell to refill the teapot, levitating one cup toward the newcomer. And as amusing as this scenario would've been just a few months ago, he was actually starting to feel sorry for... _No. No and no and **no**! I can't let them win me over with kicked puppy faces and heavy sighs._  
  
"So." He was grateful that his voice didn't squeak as he tried to break the silence that, just a few moments earlier, had amused him. "If I understand what you've told me, Dumbledore-"  
  
"-Professor Dumbledore."  
  
"Whatever. If he's dead in _this_ world too, he doesn't have a title anymore, right? Right. Anyways, _Professor_ Dumbledore went stark-raving mad after defeating the last _real_ Dark Lord, and these neat but all-too-powerful magic tricks of his resulted in a mass delusion that covered England, Scotland, and much of Europe. Only after he died -- and you haven't said yet how that happened in _this_ reality -- were we all released from nearly forty years of his twisted fantasy realm." Harry took a few quick sips of his cooling tea, relaxing his throat and trying not to get worked up again. A glance at his... hosts, and a half-hearted smirk. "Please do stop me if I've got something wrong."  
  
The look on Snape's face almost made him apologize for _something_. He'd only seen the feared Potions Master look so very worn and disheartened once before. _Except I didn't really see that. It never happened. But it_ did _! I was there, and so was he, and Dumbledore's body flew over the side of the Astronomy Tower..._  
  
"In your own rather simplistic way, you have indeed summed up the events as we know them."  
  
And thank Merlin that Snape could still sound like a cold bastard. "Alright then." How was he supposed to do this? Dregging up miserable memories, that just might turn out to be _fictional_ memories, and to the two people he'd least want to know his most humiliating circumstances. "I didn't grow up with the Dursleys." Statement, questioning fact more than acknowledging. "Every year at Hogwarts, all my friends, OWLs, Death Eater raids and Order meetings..." Someone must've cast some Dark spell over the room, because Harry found it difficult to breathe. His head told him that this crazy story was very possible, but his heart ached and creaked and felt ready to burst from the pressure of accepting the overwhelming ramifications.  
  
A solid hand closed down on his shoulder _and when did he move? dammit, gotta pay more attention_ , causing him to halfway jump out of his chair. Tom knelt beside him, his face so very expressive and concerned. _Worried about me._ Another hand reached toward him from the other side, and Severus' face told an identical story. _Both of them, worried. About me. This is so far beyond the_ Twilight Zone.  
  
"Harry, I know it's difficult to believe, for now, but what Severus told you is the honest truth." Tom crouched down, making himself more comfortable by resting one knee on the floor. His firm grip on the teen's shoulder like a lifeline for them both, if for radically different reasons. "In just a few days, you should regain most of your true memories. I'm so very sorry that this has happened to you; if there was anything I could do to alleviate your frustration, anger, fears... any and all of the negativity I'm sure you must be feeling right now, believe me when I say that I would gladly take it all upon myself."  
  
And how often had he wished _in Dumbledore's dream world, only dreams, not real?_ for a father figure to lean on like what was being offered. Snape too, from the looks of things. If Tom was playing the role of primary parent, then Severus must be a favorite uncle. Incredibly weird, thoroughly unbelievable _too many hateful words between us_ , and yes, something he could easily embrace. Given half a chance. But was he ready to accept their hypothesis just like that?  
  
The very same instincts that had kept him alive throughout his years at Hogwarts, and the annual confrontation with Voldemort _who never existed, not as the serpentine nightmare at least_ , urged him to extend his senses and 'taste' the veracity of their concern. _Either they're telling the complete truth, or someone's done a bloody marvelous job at mimicking them. Worry, compassion, caring... they_ love _me?!_ And there came the expected breakdown. Harry's mind and body froze in shock, unable to truly process any more information.  
  
Snape made to move from his chair, hoping to catch the young man before his stunned body slid onto the floor. Before his intentions translated into action, Tom stopped him by simply lifting the teen into his arms and taking Harry's former place. Neither man mentioned how very much 'too old' or 'too big' he was for such a position -- at this point, Harry would need as much reassurance as possible.  
  
While his friend regained a measure of poise, Tom forced himself to adjust to his dear boy's mature size. Had it really been so long since the galloping growth spurts began to transform his beloved nephew's body from lap-size to this nearly adult form? Soon enough, he found a comfortable position (with the help of a few wordless cushioning charms) that allowed him to hold Harry close to his chest, stroking the wild hair that he could only have gotten from James Potter. No one on _his_ side of the family had ever had that problem, of course.  
  
"I know it's a lot to take in at once, Harry, but we're here, Severus and I. We won't let anything happen to you. Take as long as you need, let your true memories surface. Your awful childhood with Petunia and Vernon never happened. You'll remember soon enough, the last time we visited them. How red Dursley's face was as he tried not to say anything rude or offensive. How your aunt's tea and cakes tasted like ash. And your cousin, oh Merlin it was priceless! That obese waste of space soiled himself when he opened the door and saw us on their front porch. The looks on their faces when you so casually explained that Petunia was a Squib, but her precious Dudley could very well have low levels of magic. Not enough for a Hogwarts letter, of course, but enough to classify him as a wizard. I promised you then, and I'll repeat that promise now: If your cousin ever manages to have children, and if those children are magical to any degree, I will find some way to remove them before the Dursley mindset can cause them harm.  
  
"Soon enough you'll recall so many little things. Your first trip to purchase school supplies, when Severus gave you Hedwig, and Ollivander being nearly speechless at our brother wands. Tricking the Ministry officials into granting you an Apparation license early, since your apprenticeship with Bill Weasley last summer would have you popping all over the world. The Yule party we went to, three years ago now, at your godfather's house. Can you remember it, Harry? Every square inch of the place was covered in dripping icicles, because Sirius' twice-damned house elf was brassed about something and cursed the decorations into melting all over the house. And when Kreacher refused to answer his summons, Pettigrew scampered off through a hole in the baseboard and tossed him a sock. Oh, Sirius was mad, no doubt about it, but more because he'd wanted to get rid of the nasty little blighter himself.  
  
"Your first Yule ball, and those dreadful robes you insisted on buying, that didn't even fit properly since you were fitted for them in July and managed to grow seven inches before December. I do believe Madam Malkin _still_ holds a grudge over that one. And of course, that Cho girl... I'm quite certain of the grudge on her part. Honestly Harry, if you must date before you complete your schooling, would you at least try to choose more suitable people? Severus agrees, you know. As he should. There is a line that must be drawn, don't you know, as to how often the same young man must be given an antidote to some badly-brewed love potion. And while we're on the topic, you should be more careful about how friendly you are toward the youngest Weasleys. That Ginny girl has had a crush on you for years, and I think her brother Ronald might be looking a bit too closely at your bum. You have plenty of time to experiment before making a choice in lifemates, Harry, so please try not to rush things by giving false hope to obsessive types.

~ * ~

  
  
Whispered words filtered sporadically through the fog of his mind, skipping across misfiring synapses and muddling his thoughts with fractured images. His brain felt curiously blank, devoid of the turmoil from only minutes before _was it minutes, or hours, or days... can't tell_.  
  
Conflicting signals kept him from bolting outright, even as he began to take a fresh inventory of his situation. First, he was being held on someone's lap -- an event that he had not experienced over the past fifteen years _but that's not right either, is it? seem to recall something..._ A warm hand held his head against a strong shoulder, fingers carding through his hair and making it more of a mess than usual. Rhythmic rocking, ever so gently, had him feeling so completely relaxed that he might fall asleep at any moment. But he couldn't. There was something he was supposed to do, or hear, or...  
  
One eye cracked open just enough to verify where he was. _Still in the kitchen, Snape in a chair just there, which means I'm sitting in Tom Riddle's lap. And isn't that the most outlandish thing that's ever happened to me?_ Words and phrases began to make more sense, the images invoking ghosts of memory that threatened to overlay with his previous recollections. _Two sets of memories, and no telling which are the real ones. Can I really just take it on faith, all that they're telling me?_ Harry wanted to hold on to his preconceived notions about these two _dangerous, they're supposed to be dangerous, but they don't seem that way, not anymore_ dark wizards. But that was rather hard to do when one held him so close, as if he was the most precious burden in all the world, and the other's expression said he would gladly take over the task of comforting if given half a chance.  
  
Sentences started making sense again, and Harry caught the tail-end of one that forced a stifled snicker past his throat. "-rush things by giving false hope to obsessive types. Or if you must, at least chose someone more aesthetically pleasing. All those freckles! It could be contagious, you know. But I suppose it's your choice... so I'll have to ask Severus to work on some sort of vaccination to cover that sort of thing."  
  
And wasn't that just the _cutest_ strangest part of this whole dream business? He was starting to believe their story, if only because the Severus Snape and Tom Riddle that he knew and hated so well would never act like this, toward him or anyone else.  


**Part IV**  
~ * ~

  
**_Flash_**  
  
_"Daddy, I'm scared," the toddler whimpered into his father's neck.  
  
Billows of rancid, oily smoke blocked his view to the outside. A strange wetness trickled down his forehead, dripping into his eyes. With one chubby hand, he rubbed across his face, letting out a piercing scream when it came away red. Red was bad -- Mummy said so. Not the color itself, but when red came out of your body... and there was lots of red. "Mummy! Daddy!"  
  
His cries went unanswered, and the tyke soon exhausted himself calling for his parents.  
  
Two sharp **pops** of Apparation were lost in the chaos of destruction. Spell light bounced against the metal frame of the burning auto, while the pair of wizards worked as quickly as possible to extricate the bodies trapped inside. Long fingers reached toward the panicky child and unclasped the restraints on his carseat, carefully lifting him up and out to safety.  
  
"Severus, I can't- they're both- Merlin, what do we do?"  
  
Casting a monitoring spell on the little boy to insure he wouldn't wander too close to the wreckage, the taller man returned to his companion's side. They worked frantically to salvage the two still people in the front seat, but it did little good. Eventually Severus pulled his friend back away from the Muggle-made pyre.  
  
"There's nothing more we can do, Tom. Lily, James... they're gone." Strong arms wrapped around each other as the two men exchanged comfort and commiserated. "At least Harry is still alive. We need to take him home and call Poppy over for a full examination."  
  
Together, they gathered the boy into their arms and Apparated directly into the nursery. Tom refused to relinquish his hold on his grand-nephew, leaving Severus to firecall for the mediwitch.  
  
"Poppy, please collect your bag and come to Godric's Hollow. As quickly as you can! And have Minerva send an emergency team to the following coordinates-"_

~ * ~

  
**_Flash_**  
  
_"But what if they don't like me, Uncle Tom? I've only ever met Draco, and Ron and his brothers, and-"  
  
"And you know every teacher at Hogwarts already, as well as most of the ghosts. Relax Harry, you will make plenty of friends! A bright, handsome young man like yourself will certainly be accepted by one and all. And please remember, regardless of what Severus says, it does not matter into which House you are Sorted. He is understandably biased, being Head of Slytherin. Don't ever think that the other Houses are beneath you, for each has its own merits and faults."  
  
Joining his great-uncle in the oft-heard speech, Harry's voice mimicked the amused lecturing tone, "And judging anyone by their heritage, wealth, or House is unwise. You do a disservice not only to them, but to yourself. Collect friends and allies anywhere you find them."  
  
Tom ruffled the messy black hair that refused to submit to the comb. "Exactly. I hope you understand what it means, Harry. Being able to spout off big words and fancy terms won't matter if your comprehension is lacking."  
  
"Just means that everyone deserves a chance, and that just 'cus someone's different it doesn't make them weird or wrong."  
  
"That's my boy!"_

~ * ~

  
**_Flash_**  
  
_It was well past curfew, and he knew how angry Severus could get about even the little things. Harry normally wouldn't dare disrupt his Head of House's few quiet hours, but this was important! Raising his hand to knock again, he nearly fell inside when the door was yanked opened.  
  
"I trust there is some terrible emergency that brings you to my chambers at-" a quick glance behind him "-half 11 in the evening?" Deeper frown and sigh, then he was dragged through the doorway. "Harry, how many times have I asked you not to expect preferential treatment during term?"  
  
Head bowed, the thirteen year old shrugged as he studied his slippers.  
  
"Well come on, then. Let's sit down and hear what has you roaming about _ this _time."  
  
Severus called for a late tea -- chamomile and peppermint, something to relax the lad -- and watched his charge behind hooded eyes. Unlike his normal impertinent self, Harry sat perfectly still, apparently engrossed in the contemplation of his tea leaves.  
  
"Harry," his voice remained calm, but with enough of a bark to snap the boy's attention away from his worries. "Whatever troubles you was important enough to bring you here, however, I cannot offer guidance unless you inform me of the problem."  
  
"Uh yeah, thank you sir. I- that is-" a few sips of his cooling tea "-oh bugger it all!" Complete exasperation almost made him crack his cup, so hard did it hit the table. "I've been having odd dreams lately, and every time I wake up... _**it** _happens."  
  
Severus' eyes widened to house elf proportions as he grasped the subject of his ward's unease. Under his breath cursing a certain _ other _green-eyed wizard, he banished their refreshments and wearily rubbed his eyes. "Ah yes, you are about that age. Dammit, this is Tom's chore, not mine!"  
  
They sat in uncomfortable silence while each tried to ignore the rampaging albino hippogryff that pranced through the room. Eventually, he could put it off no longer.  
  
"Very well, Harry. Let us begin at the beginning. As a boy turns into a young man, his body goes through many different -- and often confusing -- changes..."_

~ * ~

  
**_Flash_**  
_"Harry James Potter, get your arse down here this very instant!"  
  
"Feckin' hell, guess he heard about that little incident with the statue at the Ministry..."_

~ * ~

  
Watching his grand-nephew's eyelids flicker so rapidly, Tom glanced over at his dearest friend for reassurance.  
  
"Relax Tom, everything is going as it should, for now. His memories are returning, however random their appearance may seem. Perhaps now would be a good time to move us into the sitting room? It would undoubtedly be more comfortable for us all."  
  
Very quietly casting a featherweight charm on the sturdy mass in his arms, Tom guided the twitching body back down the hall and onto his preferred sofa nearest the picture window. Had he not already gone through a similar ordeal, he might very well have confused his charge's state with some form of seizure. A plump pillow under the youth's head, shoes and socks removed, he was made as comfortable as the situation could be.  
  
"Severus, do you have any idea of what will happen next? You have surely seen more cases than I..."  
  
Turning to the speaker with a bland expression of amusement, Severus answered simply, "What happens next is that Harry will regain a certain percentage of his true memories -- however many he is capable of absorbing at one time -- after which he will wake up confused, bewildered, possibly angry, and most certainly on edge." He walked over toward the sidebar and poured a generous tumbler of brandy, offering it to his friend. "I would suggest a dose of stiff liquor every hour, on the hour, for yourself and him. At least until the worst of it has passed."  
  
Never much of a drinker (a fact that his long-term friend knew all too well), Tom threw back the glass and swallowed rapidly around the burn. The back of his hand muffled most of the choking gasps, never coming close to waking Harry.  
  
He took watch from the closest armchair, while Severus retrieved his journal and calmly relaxed into his own seat. He would have been jealous of his friend's seemingly peaceful air had he not witnessed the worry that no amount of masking could hide from the dark brown eyes.

~ * ~

  
**_Flash_**  
  
_"I'm looking for a toad. A boy named Neville's lost one."  
  
He exchanged an amused glance at Ron and Draco. The girl had the bushiest hair he had ever seen in his life, even counting last summer's incident with the twins' latest attempt at hair growing potion. Still, Harry sensed that her brusk manner hid more than just nerves at going away to school. Uncle Tom had always told him that he could read people's emotions better than anyone else. Empathy is what he'd called it. And Harry's empathy was practically screaming at him to befriend this snooty girl.  
  
"Hi, I'm Harry Potter... and you are?"_

~ * ~

  
**_Flash_**  
_"Ere now, he won't hurt nobody. E's jus a lil fella." A hefty puff of flame engulfed Hagrid's beard, and the quintet stepped away from the newly hatched dragon. "Aw, he knows his Mummy!"_

~ * ~

  
**Flash**  
"Perfect, precious Potter! It's a shame you haven't got half as much sense as power. How dense can one wizard be?"  
  
"Leave off, Draco. I'm not in the mood for your word games. Just tell me what the bloody hell's wrong with Pansy, and why she's acting all weird lately."  
  
Grey eyes rolled dramatically. "It's called PMT, you prat. Not to mention the huge crush she's got on you."  
  
"Pansy. Pansy Parkinson? Are we talking about the same girl?"  
  
A Malfoy's snort is always elegant, eloquent, and elaborate. It also gets the point across.

~ * ~

  
**Flash**  
"Ron, I'm sorry! Merlin, how was I to know you liked her? You never said anything to me, and neither did she. Feckin hell, she's always putting me off whenever I ask her out. Just go up to her and ask her out already."  
  
"But Harry, I'm not ... "  
  
"You have brains, looks, and a huge heart, mate. But you've gotta get your head -- freckles and all -- out of your arse before she takes up with someone else."  
  
"She wouldn't! ... would she?"  
  
Great sigh. "Ron, no one wants to wait around forever. Dammit, let your bollocks descend and go talk to her! It's real easy -- 'Hi Luna, want to have lunch in Hogsmeade with me this weekend?'"

~ * ~

  
**Flash**  
"Gods, Harry!" A soft gasp, followed by a series of mumbled moans. "Let's take this somewhere more private, alright? My parents are at work..."

~ * ~

  
"Severus!"  
  
"Tom, sit down and read. Or better yet, go work on one of your insane projects."  
  
"But he's in pain, just listen to him!"  
  
Lowering his pen, Severus delivered his very best Stern Glare to his friend. "Harry is not in pain per se. If I had to venture a guess, he is reliving his first encounter with Hannah." He summoned a tea tray from the kitchen and heavily laced one cup with whiskey before offering it to Tom. "I suspect that he will be quite, hmm, **vocal** for the next several minutes, if this train of thought continues. If memory serves, two days after Ms Abbott had him experimenting with Dean Thomas."  
  
The low groan of weariness from across the room nearly made Severus laugh outloud. Where both he and Tom had relived a number of unpleasant experiences, they had lived considerably longer than Harry. He was quite certain that the young man's memories would focus on the most 'important' events of his life, and as a teenaged male, those 'important' events would revolve around sexual culmination.  
  
Right on cue, a louder moan came from the prone figure on the sofa. Followed almost immediately by an embarrassed cough.  
  
"Oh, do get over it, Tom."

~ * ~

  
**_Flash_**  
_Hands stroked across his chest and back, down his legs and over his buttocks. He couldn't see, couldn't move, couldn't speak. Completely petrified except for the area between his waist and knees. Not that he wanted to escape, far from it! The only thing he would've preferred to know was whose hands kept touching him.  
  
Hours later, he woke up in a soft bed, surrounded by warm flesh and arms wrapped around his chest and legs. A quick count hinted that there were at least three people attached to him in some way. He stretched just the tiniest bit, trying not to dislodge anyone, and mentally smirked around the assorted aches reminding him how well he'd been used not too long ago.  
  
With a huge smile on his face, he allowed himself to drift off back to sleep._

~ * ~

  
**_Flash_**  
_"Charlie, are you sure it's alright? Took Bill months to get approval with Gringotts for me to tag along last summer."  
  
"No worries, mate. Folks in my line of work will take all the help we can get, so long as the person's not a complete idiot." He gave Harry a long, considering look. "You're not, are you?"_

~ * ~

  
**_Flash_**  
_A orange whirlwind stomped into the Great Hall, tossing an overstuffed bookbag halfway down the Gryffindor table.  
  
"Something vexes thee?"  
  
"Oh belt up, 'Mione. We never should have given you that bloody stupid movie for your birthday." Ron flounced onto the bench beside her, glaring at his snickering friends. "Alright, fine. Laugh it up. I should never have signed up for Divination, and as soon as I can talk to McGonnagal, I'm switching to Ancient Runes."  
  
"That's _ Professor _McGonnagal, Ron."  
  
A collective eyeroll began at Ron on one end of their group, and spread in a wave down to Draco. At least it did until Hermione's piercing glare -- she must've picked that up by watching Severus! -- hit the lot of them. The responding chorus of "Yes, Ms Granger" did little to appease the Head Girl's ire._

~ * ~

  
"How much longer to you expect-"  
  
"Tom, I will tell you one last time before I begin to get angry. I do not know. There is absolutely no way of measuring how long the memory retrieval process will last in each individual. And in Harry's case, he played a much larger roll in Albus' fantasy realm, which may present difficulties."  
  
"But surely-"  
  
"If you cannot sit down and shut up, I will be forced to restrain you. Without calling Rosemerta."  
  
The shell-shocked expression flickered between true surprise at the threat, to surprise and horror at the promise of his ladylove's absence. What was the fun of being tied up when your favorite partner wasn't there to make you enjoy it?


End file.
